


interesting dichotomy

by pennyone (LostChanceTo)



Series: who's gonna catch me when i fall [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Damian Wayne is Robin, Gen, How Do I Tag, Reverse Robin AU, Stray AU, Tim Drake is Catlad | Stray, Wayne Gala (DCU)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21541642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostChanceTo/pseuds/pennyone
Summary: Damian runs into a close enemy and closer friend while at his first official gala - Tim Drake, aka Stray.
Relationships: Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Series: who's gonna catch me when i fall [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1552462
Comments: 10
Kudos: 213





	interesting dichotomy

Damian came back to himself with a start.

His father retracted his hand, lips pursed. “Holding up alright?”

The last wave of businessmen and Gotham socialites had just left the two of them. Damian zoned out not a full two minutes into their conversation - he found watching Kyle steal jewelry as she waltzed a far more interesting subject. He’d been formulating different plans of arresting her for the past hour at least.

“I’m doing alright, Father,” Damian said. He resisted the urge to tug at the collar of his white turtleneck. It wasn’t itchy or anything, Father paid good money to ensure that Damian looked dashing while also being comfortable. But just for something to do with his hands.

“If you’re bored,” Father said lightly. Damian groaned as loudly as he dared. His father laughed, the low, rumbling sound he made at home. Not the higher, almost gasp-y laugh he reserved for galas. Some of the tension eased from Damian’s shoulders. “If you’re sure. Brace yourself, here come the Drakes.”

“Our neighbors,” Damian recalled. His father nodded and straightened his posture.

“Brucie!” Jackson Drake was a youngish man, his hair windswept in a way that Damian was sure was supposed to be charming, but came off awkward and more than a little discomforting. Still, he wore it with an air of someone who was used to it. His wife, Janet, hung off his arm. But it was clear in the cold, almost detached way she surveyed her surroundings that she was putting up as much of an act as Father was.

“It’s been a while, Bruce,” she said, the picture of a perfect wife. The look in her eyes distracted Damian from any further observations - it reminded him of his mother. Haunted.  _ Hunted _ .

“Janet! Jackson!” Father said in the high toned himbo voice (or so Terrence called it) Damian had come to associate with such events. Not that he’d ever been to one before, but Father had to practice this one as much as he had to practice his Batman voice. “It’s been too long. How are you? How’s the company?” Damian was getting ready to completely zone out when he noticed the child by their side.

Or should he say, the criminal by their side. 

Timothy Jackson Drake, heir to Drake Industries and the meager Drake fortune, half hidden behind his mother with his lip caught in his mouth and a sheepish expression on his face. Wide eyes, flat nose, three moles in a triangle on his left cheek, and ears sticking out too far from his head. His face, that Damian could recognize anywhere.

Stray.

“Oh, have you met our son, Damian?” Mr. Drake said. Mrs. Drake pushed Timothy out from behind her. He wore a powder blue suit, with a white button down and an equally blue bowtie. It suited him, Damian thought idly. 

“We’ve met before,” Damian said lowly, a mockery of his father’s transition from Bruce to Batman. Timothy smiled winningly at his parents, nodding.

“Then maybe you two should run along while us adults do some talking,” Father said and he  _ absolutely  _ knew who this was and how Damian knew him. He winked exaggeratedly at Mr. and Mrs. Drake, who laughed politely. The comment drew the attention of surrounding adults, who crowded in at the implied infamous Brucie adventures.

“Thank you Mr. Wayne,” Timothy said as he stepped past Father. He held out his arm to Damian like Damian was a damsel. Damian glowered, but accepted the hand, ignoring the amused giggles from their parents and onlookers. Timothy steered them out of the crowd, leaning his head close to Damian’s. “I was thanking him for his watch.”

“You are a menace to society,” Damian hissed. He reached into Timothy’s pocket and slipped away the watch. It settled in the pocket of his vest, heavy against his stomach. Damian glanced over at Timothy, recognized the calculating look from Timothy’s own mother. “Timothy.” Timothy continued to scan the room. Damian stopped them and pulled his arm away. “Timothy.”

He waited until Timothy turned to look at him, that same calculating look set firmly in place.

“I swear to you I will not give your identity away without your permission.”

Timothy blinked. Then his face melted into a smile, warm and sunshine bright. “Thank you,” he said, “and I extend that same promise to you.”

Damian nodded and this time he held out his arm for Tim. Tim laughed and shook his head, but still wrapped his arm around it. Damian’s lips twitched upwards. “I wasn’t aware this was the sort of gesture we could make here.”

“It’s not,” Timothy said, with a little shrug that jostled their arms, “but Miss Kyle always says I should try and throw people off their game. If I act like I shouldn’t, then I could use that as a misdirection.” Damian hummed.

They wove between and through a crowd of adults, all of whom wished to stop them and coo and pat their cheeks. It was only force of will that allowed Damian to put up with it. Timothy, however, seemed to thrive under the attention. He glowed with it, bouncing in place, grip tight on Damian’s arm, his cheeks bunched up from the size of his smile. 

When they finally made their escape, Damian said, “So while you’re hanging off my arm, you’ve probably restolen my father’s watch.” Timothy huffed out a sigh and pulled the watch from his pocket. He handed it back, fingers stroking along the glass face for a bare second before Damian tucked it away again.

“Meanie,” Timothy said, voice surprisingly soft after hearing it in the same sharp, high pitched register Father’s himbo voice was in. Did he approximate that from Father or was it just something the Gotham elite did? Damian’s voice was lower, just a little raspy. While he could raise his voice that high, he preferred not to.

“Is that the best you can do?” Damian said. They finally arrived at the snack table, thankfully free of any pesky adults, aside from a waiter who disappeared through a door at the side. Timothy freed his arm to grab them both plates. “My brothers have already taught me a wide range of curse words and insults.”

“I don’t have any brothers,” Timothy said as he piled cookies on his plate, “so I’m already at a disadvantage.” He dropped a few on Damian’s plate as well and moved on. Cupcakes, biscuits, chocolate squares - whatever Timothy placed on his plate, he made sure to put on Damian’s as well.

“You’re out on the streets every night,” Damian pointed out, “you’re bound to have learned your fair share.” Timothy rolled his eyes and led Damian away from the snacks. He’d already started to eat at his pile of confections with almost startling delicacy.

“Say it louder,” he said, “I don’t think they heard you in China yet.” Damian rolled his own eyes and finally started in on his own food. Timothy giggled. For a second, Damian feared he’d gotten chocolate or something on his face. But Timothy went on to say, “is that a challenge? Are you challenging me to an eyerolling contest right now?”

“If we were to do that,” Damian said after swallowing, “then all the money in the world wouldn’t be able to fix our eyes when we’ve finished.” Timothy snorted, eyes narrowing, but then his attention was caught on something. The good natured affront slipped from his face, replaced by wide, shining eyes and a mischievous smile.

Timothy nudged him. “Wanna go raid the adult table?”

A split second of consideration, then Damian gasped. He transferred his plate to one hand so he could press the other to his chest. “ _ Timothy _ ! Are you attempting to lure me into a life of sin and deception?”

“Absolutely, let’s do it,” Timothy said. Damian shook his head but followed his friend over to the Adult Snack Table™. Timothy pointed at a cupcake tower with purple frosting, practically bouncing on his toes. It was a wonder he hadn’t dropped his plate or any of the sweets piled on top of it. “Sangria cupcakes.” Timothy looked over at Damian. “ _ Alcohol _ .”

“Which neither of you are getting.”

They whirled around to see one Selina Kyle.

“Catmom!” Timothy gasped. He jerked forwards, like he was going to hug her, but stopped with a glance at his plate. Kyle laughed, a sound like tinkling bells that was almost certainly fake, and leaned over to kiss Timothy’s forehead. He closed his eyes while she did it, holding still for only as long as he had to. When she leaned away his eyes snapped open and he bounced in excitement.

“Hello, Kitten,” she said. It occured to Damian to check for his father’s watch - it was gone again. She turned to Damian. “Little birdie.”

“Harlot,” Damian said. Timothy’s head snapped around, something like rage written into his soft features. Kyle merely smiled and stroked Timothy’s hair with a gloved hand.

“Refer to me respectfully,” she said, “and I’ll get you a gift.” Damian hesitated, with a glance over at his Father. At some point he and the Drakes had separated - he now sat in the midst of a much louder crowd, wrapping up some sort of tale. He’d spotted Damian and Timothy with Kyle already.   
  


Damian stepped closer. “What kind of gift?”

Kyle hummed, with a glance over at Damian’s father. He was on his way over now, rolling slowly to avoid running over people’s feet. “The living, squirming, meowing kind,” Kyle decided, grin turning nasty on her face. Timothy looked up at her, then over at Damian, an echo of her grin on his own face.

A cat.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Ms. Kyle,” Damian said. 

She laughed, this one more honest than the last, and stepped forward with a clink of her high heels. Intentional sound. Damian knew she could walk silently in stilettos if need be. She ran long, manicured fingers through Damian’s slicked back hair. Timothy finally relaxed by her side, one hand coming up to latch onto some of the loose flowing fabric of her purple dress.

Damian discretely snuck back his father’s watch from Timothy’s pocket. Timothy caught him in the act and glared, but didn’t mention it.

“So, what are you boys up to this fine evening?” She asked. “Aside from sneaking grown up treats, of course.” She didn’t step away from Damian’s side, absently fiddling with his hair, like Damian was one of her adopted, furry children.

“Nothing much,” Timothy said. Then his face lit up. “Oh, I’ve been practicing!” 

He reached into his pocket - his pants pocket, as opposed to the pocket of his coat where he’d kept the stolen watch - and pulled out a handful of jewelry. He’d snuck away rings, bracelets, and even necklaces from the adults they’d passed through and gone by. Damian could have kicked himself; of course Timothy had been stealing other things while they walked.

“I managed to grab Mr. Wayne’s watch, but Dami caught me,” Tim said as Kyle held out her purse. Timothy deposited his spoils of war into it.

Damian wrinkled his nose. “Dami?”

“Oh, you mean this one?” Kyle said, dangling the dreaded watch from her fingers. Damian glared and jumped up to snatch it back, ears ringing with the sound of Timothy’s delighted giggles.

“It is only the promise of the gift that is keeping me from calling you all manner of names right now,” Damian told her firmly. He pocketed the watch yet again, half turning at the sound of rolling wheels on linoleum.

“Selina,” Father said. Kyle beamed at him. She crossed between Timothy and Damian on her way to Father, one hand dedicated to giving them each a final pat on the head. She bent over to kiss Father thoroughly. “Oh.”

“Hello, handsome,” she said, voice dipping into something quieter and more. . .  _ intimate _ . Father beamed right back up at her, something like a real blush finally tinging his cheeks.

“You still think I’m handsome?” Father said, voice weak and getting weaker every word. “Wheelchair and all?”

“Honey, no wheelchair is going to stop what I’m going to do to you the second we get out of here,” Kyle said. She looked a little awkward, hunched over the chair, dress hanging awkwardly off her frame, but it was clear Father liked what he saw. “What do you say?”

Damian turned to Timothy, fake gagging. Timothy just rolled his eyes and shoved at Damian’s arm, popping a candy off his plate into his mouth as he watched. He was completely enraptured by the performance.

And it was a performance, Damian knew. Kyle never really got this provocative, not out on the streets, not even from what Damian had seen of security footage from when Father was still Batman. This was performance, through and through. His Father was playing it up too, leaning into her space and blinking up at her and probably giving off a lot of other nonverbal tells that Damian didn’t feel up to identifying.

“I uh, I have a speech soon,” Father protested. Looking at him now, it was hard to see the Batman in him.

At least until he discreetly caught Kyle’s hand. A couple delicate looking cufflinks, the ones Alfred had lovingly clipped into place earlier, embossed with the Wayne family crest, were caught in her long fingers. She returned them with a little pout and another kiss that deepened more with every passing second.

“Just a few minutes outside,” Kyle murmured against his lips after she had pulled back, their foreheads resting against each other. It looked intimate. Damian looked away, but Tim didn’t seem to have any problems continuing to watch. “I know a few large broom closets that might be open for use.”

Father shook his head, expression softening. “Selina,” he matched her tone and volume. She shifted closer against him.

“Come on, sexy,” Kyle said, voice breathless. Father shuddered - he actually shuddered. Damian glanced over at Timothy. He still hadn’t moved. The calculating look had returned to his expression. “I haven’t had you inside m-”

“Ok,” Damian said sharply and turned away. He grabbed Timothy’s arm and tugged him away. Timothy’s plate wobbled dangerously in his free hand. He yanked free, brow furrowed and mouth set in a hard line. “What, did you want to watch that?” He gestured back to where Kyle was pressed into Father’s space, eyes half lidded, red lips twisted into a smirk.

“I mean,” Timothy said, quietly, brow unfurrowing. 

Damian gave him a horrified look that Timothy waved away. He half turned back to continue watching. Damian groaned and grabbed his arm to pull him towards the set of double doors at the opposite end of the hall. Timothy gave in with a disappointed sigh.

“Are we sneaking out?” He asked. “I know a better way.” Damian let go of his arm and Tim immediately grabbed Damian’s wrist and led him away from the double doors and back towards the snack table. Damian followed quietly.

This time, no one really noticed them walking through the crowd. They made it to the snack table with little to no interference. Timothy guided him over to a door set into the wall a couple feet to the left of the snack table. They slipped through unhindered, into a long gray hallway. The other side of the hall had an entrance to a stairwell. Damian and Timothy hurried through it, the door closing behind them with a heavy clunk.

“I don’t see how that,” Damian weighed his word options, “ _ display _ didn’t make you uncomfortable.” Timothy snatched a cookie from Damian’s still full plate and bounced up the stairs. Damian followed at a slower pace.

“I want to learn,” Timothy said, voice calm despite the happy little hops. He turned on the first landing and waited for Damian to catch up, only to grab a cupcake and rush up the next flight of stairs. His own plate remained half full in his tight grip. “Between my mother and Catmom, there’s a lot of differences. You’ve met my mom. I’m sure you noticed how - how dangerous she is.”

“She reminds me of my own mother,” Damian agreed. Timothy had paused on the next landing to say his bit. When Damian caught up he took one of Timothy’s biscuits. Timothy just grinned, like that was the result he’d wanted all along, and took one of Damian’s in return.

  
“Yeah?” Timothy asked, mouth full of biscuit.

“Yeah,” Damian said, “from when she had to fight for her life. It didn’t happen often. But when it did. . . the look in her eyes.”

Timothy hummed, took another one of Damian’s cupcakes (there was only one left and Damian was determined to eat it himself). “Cold,” he said, “distant.” He shoved the cupcake in his mouth whole and turned to walk backwards up the stairs. He pulled Father’s watch from his pocket and twirled it between his fingers, admiring the design. “It’s an interesting dichotomy.”

“How so?” Damian said dryly, eyeing the watch. Timothy jumped up onto the bannister that preventing people from falling down the stairwell. Damian would have attacked him, but Timothy’s balance was precarious. He wavered from side to side, footsteps slow and painstakingly placed, as he walked up the railings. He was no cat burglar yet, but he was getting there.

“My mother is cold and calculating,” Timothy said, gesticulating wildly despite his half full plate and unstable balance, “she wouldn’t bother getting her nails dirty with you. She has money and power. She always gets what she wants, and all she has to do for it is snap her fingers.” He paused on the realing to wait for Damian and probably to gather his thoughts. Damian came to a stop beside him. There was only one more flight of stairs left until they reached the top.

“And Kyle?” Damian asked. They stood there for a long moment. Timothy finally dropped down next to Damian. He took Damian’s last cupcake. Damian didn’t protest, just waited.

“I don’t know,” Timothy finally said. He started climbing again. Damian followed. “She’s fine with getting her hands dirty if it gets the job done. She’s very much the sort of ‘if you want a job done right, do it yourself’ kind of person. She’s. I don’t know, it’s not really a thing I know how to say.” He sighed and shrugged.

The final platform was empty aside from a small door labelled “roof access”. Damian handed his almost empty plate to Timothy and squatted down. He pulled his lockpicks from his sock and unlocked the door.

They stepped outside into the cold evening air. Damian sucked in a deep breath, drawing it down into his lungs and holding it for a second. He released it, slow and steady, shoulders relaxing. It felt good. Sure, the stars weren’t visible, but Damian could see Gotham. The stars reminded him of the desert, of his mother and grandfather. The Gotham skyline only meant one thing - Batman and Robin.

“Mother looks at you like you aren’t worth the dirt on the bottom of her shoe,” Tim said, voice quiet. Damian turned to find him staring out at the Gotham skyline as well, face smooth and peaceful. “Catmom looks at you like you hung the moon in the sky.” 

“That doesn’t mean much to me,” Damian said and walked over the side of the room. He placed his plate on the chest high ledge that rimmed the roof. Timothy put his almost empty plate next to Damian’s, snagging another treat.

“Let’s try this, then,” Timothy said. He handed the watch back to Damian. Damian secured it on his wrist. He didn’t even have a second to prepare himself - Timothy’s entire demeanor changed.

It was like he’d slipped back into his Stray persona, just ten times more hostile. His eyes were like sapphires set into his skull, emotionless and fractured. Dangerous, like his mother downstairs. He held out his hand, a sharp movement that almost sent Damian into a defensive position. 

“The watch,” Timothy said - no, demanded, voice devoid of the warmth it had just held.

In the light of the moon, he seemed like a different person. Someone unfamiliar and strange, someone Damian would avoid unless absolutely necessary. Someone even Grandfather would have to take seriously.

Then Timothy relaxed and the murderous intent leaked from the air around him. He smiled, his familiar bright, soft smile. The one he’d smiled for Robin and Spoiler on the slow nights, the ones they spent talking about personal matters. Not the racy, confident thing from downstairs, the one Damian only just realized had to have been an act.

“That’s Mom,” Timothy said, scratching at the back of his neck, “Catmom’s more like. . .” He eyed Damian.

He stepped forward to press himself along Damian’s body, eyes half lidded, smirking just the faintest bit. His forehead pressed lightly against Damian’s, close enough his chocolate scented breath washed over Damian’s face. He curled an arm around Damian, the other tracing a design on Damian’s chest.

Damian went rigid - this was what Kyle had done to Father, not a full fifteen minutes earlier.

“Having a nice night?” Timothy said, voice slower and lilting with either nerves or an attempt to make himself sound more, uh, more appealing? Had he ever tried to seduce someone before? Damian didn’t feel very. . .  _ seduced _ . “Bet I could make it a little nicer.”

But even so, Damian understood what Timothy was trying to demonstrate. “Ok,” he said, pulling back. Timothy leaned out of Damian’s space, taking the scent of chocolate and residual cologne with him.

“I’m not very good at the sexy thing yet,” Timothy said, “but I  _ am _ only twelve. I’ll get there.” Damian shuddered.

“Hopefully not,” he said, “even I could tell that was just a weak impression of your mentor.” Timothy snorted and took another one of Damian’s treats - that was the last of them. Timothy walked back over.

“I don’t think this is an ‘even I’ situation, Dami,” Timothy said and pressed a biscuit to Damian’s lips. Damian raised an eyebrow and grabbed it. “You can tell a lot of things. It happens when you’re raised as an assassin from birth.” A laughed pulled itself from Damian’s lungs. He shook his head and held out a hand.

Timothy pulled a face. Damian offered the biscuit Timothy had just given him and Timothy relented - he pulled the watch from his pocket and exchanged it for the biscuit.

“If it helps,” Damian said, “I was focused enough on you that I didn’t notice when it went missing until just now.” Timothy beamed.

“Exactly that,” Timothy said, “that’s exactly what I was trying for. Honestly, I probably should have tried a different Catmom approved way of manipulation, but,” he shrugged, “to heck with it, you know? It’s just you.”

Damian opened his mouth to respond but stopped at the sound of the door knob turning. He and Timothy glanced at each other, then turned to face the new threat. Was it Timothy’s parents? Was it Kyle? Even worse, had Father noticed Damian had gone missing and called Terrance to come find him?   
  


The door scraped open to reveal a haggard looking staff member. She froze when she saw them. Damian squared his shoulders and raised an eyebrow. Timothy also minutely adjusted his own position, but Damian didn’t bother to look.

“You’re not supposed to be up here,” the staff member said. She pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her inner breast pocket and pulled one out.

Damian took a chance. “Neither are you,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his chin. The staff member grimaced as she lit up.

“Tell you what,” Timothy said. He clasped his hands behind his back, tilting his head to the side with wide, innocent eyes. “If you don’t tell our parents, we won’t tell your boss.” He smiled, a cute, pleasant thing that Damian knew instinctively not to trust.

“Snitches get stitches,” Damian decided to add, just to throw a wrench in Timothy’s act. Timothy took the interruption in stride.

“Snitches get nothing, because they don’t exist,” Timothy said cheerfully, “isn’t that right, Ms. Staff Member?” Damian turned to the staff member, not bothering to hide his (foux) annoyance.

She winced and shifted. “You two are gonna be terrors when you grow up.”

Damian and Timothy exchanged a look.

“I’m just gonna be over there,” the staff member said, sounding uncomfortable, “and if you’re still here when I’m done, I’m locking you out. Mr. Wayne’s about to give his speech, so uh, yeah.” She walked to the other side of the roof, shoulders stiff.

Timothy grabbed Damian’s wrist, like he had back in the ballroom, and pulled him to the door. The staff member had left it slightly open. They slipped inside. Timothy paused and reached for the heavy padlock, but Damian pulled him away.

“She recognized us,” Timothy said by way of explanation as they pounded down the stairs.

“Of course she did,” Damian said with a snort, “we’re the sons of some of the richest people here.” 

“Princes of Gotham, as it were,” Timothy murmured.

They reached the bottom floor and stopped, hurriedly checking themselves and each other for anything out of place. Timothy reached over to tug Damian’s vest back into place, Damian adjusted Timothy’s bow tie so it sat straight at the base of his neck. Timothy rearranged Damian so they could link arms like they had earlier, with Timothy’s right arm curled out Damian’s outheld left. He slipped his hand into Damian’s pocket and pulled out the watch, admiring it as they walked back into the packed ballroom.

They left their empty plates on the roof. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, please leave a comment, the next fic is gonna be both long and intense so stick around for that ig


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